


Stanza

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Writing Exercise, just a bunch of prompts I wanted to try!, real world AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-06-09 16:47:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6915220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Did a couple of song-based writing exercises on Tumblr featuring Rhack and wanted to put them here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I put my Rhack playlist on shuffle, and wrote something that inspired me for the duration of the song before moving on to the next one.
> 
> Enjoy!

**[Teenage Dirtbag](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D534Zz_FZYvw&t=NDgyYTk1MmQ3MzAzMjk3ZDlmZTY3NWE3ZGM2ZjQ0ZDlhOTE5ZjBlOSw1UGJ4bGxBZw%3D%3D) **

Hugo is off flirting with a blond, pierced underclassman by the time Rhys decides that he’s had enough, that he had been right in his misgivings all along—agreeing to go with Hugo to the prom had been a  _huge_  mistake. He should have known that he couldn’t keep his hands to himself, that the moment Rhys went to grab some punch or finger sandwiches his eyes would be looking for some new tail. 

Furious, Rhys stole off to the bathroom, trying not to cry before breaking down in front of the sink, smearing his eyes and feeling stupid, because he had rented a nice looking suit and had actually been excited, but he was so stupid.

Rhys was so busy crying, that he didn’t notice the door clip shut behind him, didn’t notice anything at all until he felt a large, warm hand on his. Rhys started, turning around in shock, about to protest that he wasn’t  _crying_ , not at all, when he realized who it was standing behind him.

Jack Lawrence was staring back at him, a somber, contemplative look in his eyes as he glanced over Rhys’ guarded form. The teen couldn’t help but tremble as he gazed back into those piercing, mismatched eyes, the only person Rhys had ever seen with them, other than himself. 

* * *

**[Glue Me](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DzI111cc2yBY&t=YmJjZDNjZmJmMjU1N2Y0YzAxZDM5OGJmZDNmYmVjYzRiNTIzNGE5Ziw1UGJ4bGxBZw%3D%3D) **

The clouds were thick and heavy, hung down with rain as they clustered low over the scene below them, drenching the formerly parched Pandora desert in floods of water—quick to wash away blood, to bloat corpses, to destroy all traces of the battle that had raged below. 

It had taken Jack ages to sift through the corpses, sodden and weighted with the sudden rain, he had thrown both bandits and his own men aside in his fruitless search. Determined to find a trace of the one who had been lost in the heat of the battle, who very well may be swallowed forever by the sudden mud that had consumed the surface, scattered meat for nothing more than skags and worms. 

His breath rasped, hoarse in his throat, blood still welling up and dripping over his lips, constant subtle reminders that he’s little time left himself, the yawning holes in his chest and stomach washed in the biting rain from above, coursing rivulets down his torn skin as he—finally—finds the body, limp and lifeless with acidic water building up in his open eyes and trailing down his muddied cheeks.

* * *

**[The Ghosts of Beverly Drive](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DkkgHqqHDX7g&t=MWQ0ODk0YzE4NThiYTNjYTZlNTVhM2RmM2I3ZmIzNmMzNjQ2ZGE5OSw1UGJ4bGxBZw%3D%3D) **

Mr. Lawrence spends most of his time in the large room upstairs, overstuffed with trinkets and trophies and more useless items than the older man will ever admit. The house is huge, sprawling, with massive grounds maintained by a aging, if steadily paid workforce, but Mr. Lawrence spends most of his time up in his room, pawing over his memories, speaking to no one else but Rhys. 

Rhys swears the house is haunted, somedays, Mr. Lawrence’s unspoken crimes living in the dust and the cobwebs hanging from the chandeliers that Rhys  _tries_ to get rid of—but everyday it seems they grow back, regenerative parts of the house, the building itself as determined to linger in the past as its reclusive, insane owner. 

Somedays, Mr. Lawrence himself seems like a ghost—or a  _demon_ , puckered scar scrunching up in the manic grin that he gives Rhys whenever the man tries to bring his boss his coffee, only to end up looking down the barrel of a pistol that Rhys already knows isn’t loaded.

* * *

[ **A Rainy Night in Soho** ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D9GoA5oF4o-4&t=MTFkYjAxOGFiNzc1NzQ4NGYzZjJkZjFhNDE4Njc5MTE2OTdkN2M3Yyw1UGJ4bGxBZw%3D%3D)

The alleyway smells like warm piss and wet trash and blood, the blood from Rhys’ nose dripping in small, sad patterns on the churned concrete. The rain patters on his torn jacket, fresh material now ripped and sodden. He holds his head in his hands, teeth clenched in a suppressed scream as his head throbs, the numbing alcohol wearing off and leaving him feeling the sharp split in his lip and the thick bruising around his eye. 

Rhys is so isolated in his pain and the smells and damp around him that he barely notices the footsteps and the shadow echoing in the alley, until it is right over him and suddenly, his body is shielded from the rain above, prompting the boy to look up with wide, bloodshot eyes. 

“You all right, kiddo?” Came the rasp from above, the face peering down on him ambered in the soft glow of a fading cigarette. The umbrella he carries is rusted at the stem and has holes in it, through which Rhys can see the sky, nearly brown from the city lights. Rhys sniffles, rubbing at the blood dripping from his lip, but can’t manage a nod, can’t find the lie, and instead the tears come anew as he shakes his head, so beaten and dizzy that he can’t bring himself to reject the stranger’s words. He hears the man  _tsk_  sharply, but he crouches down, bringing the umbrella more fully above him, shielding Rhys further. 

“Young kids like you always getting into trouble around here. Swear to god.”

* * *

**[Miserabilia](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DniE5Boeh5hw&t=MmRiODdjOWIyMzNhOWZhYzUxYjNhOGFiMDU1YzgwZTg0MGUwODYyMCw1UGJ4bGxBZw%3D%3D) **

Rhys just wants to embrace Jack, to just hold him close and feel the man’s warmth against him, to kiss the roughened skin of his face, to drag away all of Jack’s insecurities and fears and just— _everything_ —and hold them under the water until they drowned, until they ran out of breath and died, but no, Jack pushes him away, shoves him against the bed and snarls, teeth bared and eyes widened around the tight skin of the scar. 

“ _Don’t_ , don’t you  _dare_ , don’t you dare even  _try_ , cupcake, don’t.” He grabs Rhys by the jaw, fingers pressing cruelly into the man’s cheeks, repudiation of the man’s intended kindness, the tenderness of a part of Jack that deserved to be tucked away and  _never_  seen—evidence of weakness, naked and weathered and scarred and useless like the severed nerves in the skin, in the brain that can barely feel anymore. 

* * *

**[By Your Hand](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DMcMkWeJCTgE&t=OWVmOWQ4ZmE1ZTAwNWQyM2VhMWI1NWJkOWI5ZDg3YWUwZjc1NzRkNyw1UGJ4bGxBZw%3D%3D) **

Rhys has no more breath to scream, no more oxygen left in his lungs as his eyes blur, the ECHO feed starting to short out as his brain fizzes and seizes and trembles against the thin bone of his skull, cracked against the floor of Jack’s office. The only things he can feel are the cool steel of the ground, the warm dribble of blood and saliva trailing down his lips, the rough press of Jack’s hands wrapped around his throat, fingertips digging into his spine, thumbs shoved into his windpipe as the CEO slowly wrings the life out of him. 

And at the moment Rhys is about to breach unconsciousness, Jack releases him. Breath screams into the man’s bruised throat, painful coughs wracking through his body as he weakly squirms against the floor. Sight comes back slowly, through buzzing colors, Jack’s face a swirl that eventually slows, a maelstrom of light and sound and soft, arrogant chuckles as Jack’s hand and Jack’s hand alone brings him to the brink of death and then back, back to soft whispers and gracing fingers over days old, bandaged wounds. 

“Don’t forget, kitten, _I’m_  the only one who is allowed to kill you.”

* * *

**[Runaways](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DnbeIjVKGkZg&t=OTUzODRkZjJiMjhkNjNhNDVmN2Q5NWNlMmVmODQzMzVlZTU4ZDUwOCw1UGJ4bGxBZw%3D%3D) **

Rhys’ parents had always hated Jack, the devilish swagger and lack of respect and well—just about everything that the man had to offer, including his affection for the omega. 

But Rhys’ parents barely mattered now—not with the stretch of the open road before them, not with the raggedly, old smell of the leather seats of Jack’s car, the sticky console stuck with too many uncleaned stains and spilled drinks and microscopic fragments of a hundred fast food meals. They weren’t good for Rhys, and Jack wished he could afford something better for the omega, considering his current  _state_ , but that’s why Jack was looking for odd jobs and maybe a place they could settle down for a few months. Just a few more months to get it together. Jack could do it. He knew that he could. 

Rhys was sleeping in the passenger seat, tiny breaths rising and falling in his chest, hand settled over his stomach. With one hand still on the wheel, Jack blindly reached over, placing his hand over the omega’s own, fingers curling into his palm as he inhaled the man’s milky, honeyed scent. 

* * *

[ **Irresistible** ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DyPq9LM_2Jcg&t=MzljZTgwZjZiZDdhYzBmOWQ3ODhkNzlmYWExMTJjZGJkN2UyYzU0Miw1UGJ4bGxBZw%3D%3D)

Rhys loved the way that Jack bit. 

People would probably assume that a man like Jack would immediately dig his teeth right into the meat of his partner, piercing and bloody and relentless, and—yes, it was, it was all of those things, and it  _hurt_ —but it was more nuanced than that, and after being marked over and over again, covered in layers and layers of thickened skin and bruised flesh and scars, Rhys understood, could decipher the different ways that Jack chose to claim him with his teeth. It hurt, oh god, it hurt, but Rhys was conditioned now—loving the way that his stomach rose into his ribcage as he felt the barest graze of the man’s canines over his skin, like going up a rollercoaster, anticipation swelling up in him right up until the point where the hammer dropped, where Jack pierced his skin with all the force and power behind the arrogant jawline, blood popping from his flesh and bleeding out into the CEO’s mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

[Sketch Artist Composite](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DPZw3aPGx99w&t=ODU2NmQzNzk1ZTBjZWIxNzVmM2MzMGVjYjQ4MDU4MjUzOWJkMzY2NyxFZXlKZnNnUQ%3D%3D)

It had been a brisk, autumn evening—leaves bronze in the afternoon sun, the quiet sound of them clipping from the spindly tree branches and brushing against the sidewalk, the street, the side of Jack’s sleek, shiny black car. 

He’d been there, watching the boy from behind as he’d left his house, looking auburn and beautiful in the glow of the dying sun.  

He’d been there when the boy had taken his last, free breath, the last breath he would take without Jack’s presence, without Jack’s permission. 

And now the boy was preserved in the quiet of a back room set far away from the rest of the man’s expansive house, perfect, pretty skin ready to be marred and cut apart whenever Jack saw fit—but for now, his pretty body was kept, still untouched and reminiscent of that afternoon when Jack had finally decided to claim his prize for his own, frazzled brown hair and tear stricken, terrified eyes more beautiful than any season. 

* * *

 [The Sea is a Good Place to Think of the Future](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DyvT5lm3OIxw&t=ODdhNzk3ZjYwYjFlMjllZjgyNmYwODQ3MGU5YzE0NTYxZTkyMDQzMCxFZXlKZnNnUQ%3D%3D)

Rhys’ body is trembling, shaking,  _frightfully_ young. 

Helios falls, burns, crushes itself in its own weight and Rhys emerges, daedalic, laughing tears into his own fingers intact even with the curl of ash and the heart of steel against his skin. Beating, foreign and heavy, hanging like a noose beneath his ribs. 

The voice in his head is never-ending, a drone like the ghost of a parade of feet against the cracked earth, oozing with boiling water and bleeding with magma and mud. It cackles in his brain, thrums through his entire body, making it shake and tremble, claw marks in his temple and blood under his nails that split and crack against his own flesh in a desperate attempt to rip unwanted immortality from his very bones. 

“You are  _mine_ ,” It hisses like the steam that cracks from the desert, “you are  _mine_  until the moon falls from the damn sky, until the ground fucking cracks and swallows us both up, you are  _mine_.”

Elpis hangs, like a hammer to drop, the trigger held in a crescent, swollen and crushing in the sky above, and Rhys’s hunger is dry upon his tongue, his body is old, so old, his eyes are bright but so cold and so, so dead, but not nearly enough, no, no, no. 

* * *

 [Knee Deep At ATP](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DQXkIDjxdPwI&t=Yjg0MDdlZWFlNDFmZTZmNjFlZmU5ZmNjMTk3OTZkMGU2ZGNjMWQ1MyxFZXlKZnNnUQ%3D%3D)

It begins with beer, the bathroom, and a beard. 

The bar is hot, flushed with broken air conditioner and the stifle of too many bodies, crushing around the counter and boxing Rhys in as he struggled to choke down the last of the alcohol he’d paid far too much for. He stays watching the reflection of the bottle in the countertop marred with scratches and spit, when an arm wraps around his shoulders—the heavy and warm weight unwelcome in the already dizzy environment of the bar until Rhys catches the reflection of its owner, handsome smile distorting in the countertop, belying the true beauty that Rhys catches in his eyes as he turns around to the stranger, to the devilish look in his eyes and the scraps of hair hanging to his chin in a roguish, stubble, the scar over his face chiseling into the already cut features. 

* * *

 [Bad Moon Rising](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D4YlTUDnsWMo&t=ZWVlNTc1NTYxMjY2Zjk1YjgzMDEwNmFkZmY2NzVmZjkzOTZhYjVkZCxFZXlKZnNnUQ%3D%3D)

The summer air is hot, even in the dead of night as Rhys rises, leaving Vaughn alone in the tent as he scrabbles through the darkness, holding his phone up in a single square of illumination as he hobbles to the bathroom. 

The warm breeze rustles in a soft warning around him, one that the tired man ignores as he shuffles barefoot to the edge of the camp. The moon hangs above, bright and full and glowing unnaturally orange. The dry leaves crunch under the man’s feet—soon joined by the rustle of another’s footsteps, the sound of bushes catching against skin and fur and claws.

Rhys lets out a cry as he’s pinned suddenly against the ground, humid breath suddenly ghosting at the back of his neck as he struggles to worm around, shocked at the feeling of claws against his upper arms. And out of the corner of his eye he can see—see two glistening orbs floating in the darkness above him, slitted and shining and accompanied by a growl so low and gravelly that he can feel it in his stomach. 

* * *

 [Sweet Dreams, Sweet Cheeks](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D9P41Qdkk6OA&t=MGJmZGY1ZDQxYzM1MTk2ZTk0MWI5NTRhYzU2NjBlYzZjNmM0NzRkMSxFZXlKZnNnUQ%3D%3D)

Jack is glitching out, his own coding snapping and blinking as he tightens Rhys’ hand around his own throat, looming over the prone man as he struggles to take in breath, feet skidding against the debris-strewn floor uselessly, face reddening against the blood dripping from his scalp as he tries to pry the vice grip from around his own throat. 

“No— _way_ —in hell I’m not taking you with me after all this  _shit_.” The background of Jack’s destroyed office is slowly fading into the darkening periphery of Rhys’ vision, his world reduced to the piercing glare and vicious, destructive smile of the hologram above him, flickering with every breath that Rhys fails to take, with every bit of blood that drips from his lips, with every last, seizing movement that jerks through the man’s body. He distantly feels the thump of his hand as it falls away from his cybernetic wrist, no longer able to feel anything besides the harsh grip of his own fingers around his throat and the panic high in his chest though—that too—is beginning to fade.

Jack is so close, so close, and there is nothing left besides his face, seizing and crumbling away as he squeezes the life out of his host, manic determination flaring in his pin-prick pupils and stretched grin. 

“ _You’re mine, princess._ ”

* * *

 [Wednesday Night Melody](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DJrbIaoWsRs8&t=MTk3YjIxMTFjYTMxYmY2Y2QxZjczNDNkYWZkY2E4ZTQ4YjY2ZGZjOCxFZXlKZnNnUQ%3D%3D)

Rhys sits on the counter, lounging back against his hands as he watches Jack flit about the room, phone pressed angrily to the side of his face as he lays into the sorry executive on the other line who thought it appropriate to call the man’s personal line outside of business hours. Really, Rhys wondered why he had even given out his personal number to his underlings—though maybe he hadn’t, and maybe that was the reason that Jack was so upset. 

And he was definitely  _upset_ , tossing the undeniably expensive phone to the ground and ignoring how the sleek back of it popped and scattered over the tile. He stalked over to where Rhys was reclining on the counter, settling himself between the man’s naked legs with a sour expression. 

“Distract me, pumpkin, so I don’t have to think about how these god damn idiots can’t function for a couple of hours without me.” The man scowled, pressing between the younger man’s legs and burying his face into the man’s neck with a frustrated sigh. Rhys hummed, running his fingers through the man’s hair, messing it up before careful fingers smoothed it back into place.

“Oh, I’m sure I can think of something.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a couple of song requests on Tumblr! Here is the first couple of them.

[Veterans of the Psychic Wars](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jGKNaIXtBZQ)

Rhys sits back in his chair, eyes casting dully over the office before him as he lets out a dusty breath. His brain throbs in his temple as his ECHOeye works over the documents at his desk, before he pushes them away and turns around in his chair, facing the massive window that stretches out behind him. 

The view of Pandora stretches out far and wide and feels like a weight on his shoulders, all the developments and improvements that he had made teetering and unstable as they balance atop his frail form–now older than he once was, hair still slicked back but now graced in a whisper of gray.

He raises his hand up to his chest as he looks out over everything that he had done, feeling his fingers tremble as they close around the delicate metal disk clasped inside of scintillating blue plastic, and in his exhaustion wonders if another pair of hands would be a welcome relief.

* * *

 [Big, Bad, Handsome Man](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZPPsze3ROjA)

All right, maybe Rhys was deeper in this than he thought.

The mission was supposed to be simple. Atlas had finally been given a hit to take out Handsome Jack, and Rhys was the prime candidate for carrying it out. His interest–not _obsession_ , interest–in the CEO was well known throughout Atlas, and really, there was no one else capable enough to get close to him. 

And get close to him was something that Rhys had done–maybe a bit more enthusiastically than someone else who would just do a basic shoot and dash–but Rhys had _style_  and _narrative_. So he’d lured Jack to his side by going undercover at one of the CEO’s fancy galas, suit and pants tailored perfectly to Jack’s specific tastes, and it wasn’t long before he caught the older man’s eye. And Rhys had been able to maintain that core of professionalism, keeping his eye on the prize that was Jack’s bloody death, but the flesh-deep part of him craved the way the man’s broad hands had smoothed over his sides and parted his thighs and claimed his lips and fucked him senseless in Jack’s big penthouse suite after the party was over. And as Rhys laid at the man’s side, eyes wet and panting for breath, he found he couldn’t bring himself to wrap his hands around his exhausted lover’s neck.

* * *

[Pet](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m5i3WtvjOHs)

Jack’s lip was bleeding. 

The flesh was torn with open, a thick cut stabbing right through the chapped skin. Rhys could see his teeth through the slit, both of their chin’s now dripping with blood. Rhys could taste copper on the tip of his tongue, the blood drawn from Jack’s lips when Rhys had bit him in a desperate attempt to get away from the man’s possessive kiss.  

“You little _shit_ –” Rhys heard before a stunning slap struck across his cheek, feeling the skin yawn open as Jack’s ring cut right through him, scarring blood across his nose as he let out a shout and fell on his ass to the floor, flesh hand sticky as he pressed it against the gash on his cheek. 

“There, now we match, _kitten_.” Jack hissed as he straddled the young man’s body, Rhys crying out and lashing out when Jack’s fingers dug into his hair, nearly yanking it out of his scalp as he brought his knee into his chin, Rhys’ teeth cracking together as stars exploded in his eyes. 

He felt very little aside from the pounding pain in his face and the cool of the floor against his back, until his face was cupped in warm, broad palms. His vision swam and he let out a pained moan when he felt a finger stroke over the bloodied flap of skin in his cheek. His vision was a blur except for the dark pits of Jack’s eyes, lucid affection hiding the former madness that had just exploded forth. 

“There we are, there’s my pretty boy…”

* * *

[Hypnotic ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9jLArRhVf-4)

The hot summer sun simmers above them, blue sky shimmering against the clouds of dust that had been kicked up when Jack had pulled off the side off the road and tumbled off into the desert. Rhys had been teasing him for the past fifty miles or so, plying him with coy glances and the tips of his finger tracing over his pink lips and damn it, Jack couldn’t take it anymore–a couple  more minutes of that, and he’d have smashed their car into the median on accident. 

So now he’s got Rhys pressed against the passenger car door, pining his hands against the warm glass of the window as he ravages the boy’s mouth against the reflective blue of the sky far above them, his knees straddling the console as he squeezes Rhys’ lithe body into the small space left between Jack’s bulk and the still-locked door. When he pulls back, Rhys’ lips are wet and glistening with saliva, his eyes lost and dazed for a moment, a proper response tongued out of him for a couple of seconds before that sneaky, mischievous smile spread across his face.

* * *

[Never Gonna Give You Up](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6_b7RDuLwcI)

Rhys really wasn’t expecting something like this when he’d walked into their bedroom–something like _this_  being a naked down to his tight yellow briefs Jack singing along to an awful, generic song with a damp towel thrown over his shoulder. Rhys stood opened mouth for a moment, before bringing a hand up to his mouth and snickering as Jack noticed him, and instead of throwing the towel at his face or getting angry at being caught looking like a dork, Jack decided to turn towards his boyfriend and mouth the words to him, drawing the towel from his shoulders as he pulled it taunt, running it over his hips and ass and between his legs in a goofy, absurd dance, shaking his hips and ass as he advanced on the giggling younger man. Rhys snorted in laughter, cheeks red as Jack gyrated closer, a stupid, snarky grin on the older man’s face as he whipped the middle of the towel around Rhys’ waist, tugging him in closer until they bumped their hips together. 

* * *

[Shut Up and Dance With Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mjdIJ5ZSpSk)

Anyone would would wear all yellow to a club must be out of their damn mind.

At least, that’s what Rhys was thinking, before the guy turned around, scanning over the packed club briefly before returning to talk to the girl in the cowboy hat next to him. And the sight of _that face_ –high, chiseled cheekbones, striking eyebrows, and the ever so slightly devil-may-care hang of his swept bangs–hooked Rhys instantly, so much so that he stabbed the draw of his drink against the side of his face as he went in for a distracted sip. 

Drunken giggles from Yvette and smirks from Vaughn eventually goaded the tipsy young man into getting up and stumbling his way across the club towards the bright yellow beacon of the stranger. And right when Rhys was only a few steps away, someone else took a step back into him, elbowing him accidentally in the side and sending him topping forward, _right_  into the handsome stranger.

Rhys let out a yelp of surprise, eyes widening in drunken horror as he realized exactly what he had done. His mouth hung open as a mismatched pair of eyes whirled upon him, the brief flash of anger in his eyes nearly prompting Rhys to run, before that dark look was replaced with something softer, amused. 

“Woah ho ho, sweetheart, dance floor is that-a-way,” The strange gave him a heart pat on the shoulder that nearly knocked the transfixed, still-tipsy man over again. “Though looking at ya, you might need someone to help ya before you take out the entire place with those giraffe legs of yours.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last of my song requests I took on Tumblr, with some Jackothy and Vaughn/Vasquez thrown in this time!
> 
> The last one was written on request by Erinchu for their flower shop AU. <3

[Pain](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fksp8J73GUw)

Timothy stares listlessly, eyes focused on nothing, barely able to feel the way Jack’s hands skate over his body until the older man is grabbing him roughly, possessively–nails biting into Timothy’s skin and causing the slight part of the double’s lips, the barest flinch. Jack is trying to get some kind of reaction out of him, but it’s been harder lately, and even Timothy is not sure why. It feels like his skin has grown a hundred times thicker, weight washing over him and holding him down. But Jack is persistent, determined to  _make_  Tim feel, and when Tim’s body denies him the response he wants, Jack only presses further, cutting holes in the double’s body and shoving his fingers into the wounds, wanting to see tears curl in Tim’s eyes, wants to hear him scream in pain and pleasure once more.

* * *

 [Flesh](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mEfKooMunLI)

Vaughn’s heartbeat flutters like a hummingbird’s, which Vasquez thinks is funny, considering how small the little guy is. But oh, there’s a lot of fun and need and some pretty sexy muscles hidden in that compact little package, and Vasquez likes those times when Vaughn comes around looking for a little something extra.

“What would Rhys think, if he saw you with me, huh?” The man raises one thick brow as he pins Vaughn’s back against his desk, grasping both of their cocks together as his other hand braces against Vaughn’s side, feeling the hard forms of those killer abs. A sour look crosses Vaughn’s face, which Vasquez quickly does away with with a sharp squeeze to their cocks, his cybernetic pinkie digging into the side of the younger man’s shaft until Vaughn winces and shudders. 

“Yeah yeah, you’re right. Why should I be talking about that string bean when I’ve got a full course steak dinner right here?” Vasquez chuckled, shaking his head as if admonishing himself, before leaning in and biting down hard on the smaller man’s shoulder.

* * *

[Perfect Two](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SEsPloHpKJU)

Timothy wonders if this could really be all a dream.

It’s a soft, pale green morning when he wakes up, the sunlight filtering through the leaves outside the window and into the bedroom. Patterns of shadow and light dance on the sheets on the bed, over the tanned and scarred skin of Jack’s back next to him. Timothy softly turns over to fully face him, and maybe this isn’t a dream because Jack’s face is still heavy with scar, and what Timothy always wanted to erase in his fantasies was the cruel mark on his lover’s face.

Timothy’s fingers dance softly over the mussed, whispy strands of Jack’s hair highlighted in the early morning dawn, suspended prettily like candy floss. He doesn’t want to wake Jack up, not yet, not wanting to disturb the soothing image before him. A small little smile flits over Timothy’s lips as he snuggles back into the warmth of the blankets, falling back asleep quickly enough.

* * *

[Pour Some Sugar on Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RaG8faaFUMM)

“Jack, _hurry_ , before it melts.” Rhys insisted, laying back against the bed, skin shivering slightly as he watched the scoops of vanilla and strawberry–not chocolate, chocolate would be harder to get out of the sheets–ice cream slid against his chest, leaving a sticky trail in their wake as they drizzled down his soft pecs. Jack replied only with a smirk as he leaned in and pressed the flat of his tongue against one of the dripping streams on Rhys’ skin, sucking up to a nipple already hard and pert from the cool touch of the ice cream and rolling it in his mouth, making the young man’s toes curl with a satisfied _mmm_  as Rhys arched up into Jack’s tongue. 

“ _Aaah_ , ah, I-I don’t wanna be all gross and sticky so you better…you better lick everything up, okay?” Rhys touched his chin to his collar to look at Jack, who was very clearly not listening to him, even if he was attentively lapping the gradually melting treats off his chest. “Jack?”

The older man’s lips are cold at first when they press up against Rhys, swallowing any more questions that he might have as the mix of vanilla, strawberry, and _Jack_  is lolled into his mouth, leaving his lips tacky with sugar. 

* * *

[I Found ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PbSZhGONRBg)

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

Rhys is just a middle manager, just a cog in the great machine of Hyperion, and even though he’s trying to break beyond just that, he still _knows_  that he’s not nearly a member of Helios’ elite yet. 

So why his idol had taken an interest in him is something that terrifies him beyond his wildest dreams. 

Because Jack wasn’t someone who was _meant_  to be loved. Jack wasn’t meant to be someone that Rhys associated with tenderness, with affection. Rhys had been content with far-off adoration and secret idolatry, but now that everything is _close_  and he can see the cracks, there’s fear and worry brewing in his chest with every press of a kiss and warmth of an arm–because now there’s something to _lose_  rather than surpass. 

But his body and heart are like dogs, slobbering because they want him, and they drag his brain along over Jack’s desk, under the boardroom table, into his bedroom–and he chastises himself every time his fingers cling a little bit longer into the man’s flesh when he rises to clean himself off. 

And one day Rhys can barely hear through the blood pounding in his ears as Jack–full of fire, full of anger, madness that threatens he who has been too stupid not to leave the blast radius–is telling him he’s going to Pandora, that he’s going to finish this and wipe the people from the face of the planet. And one last time the drooling jaws of his heart and cock draw him in while his brain screams at him with the truth. 

_It wasn’t supposed to be like this._

* * *

[Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R2LQdh42neg)

For the first time in awhile, Rhys woke crying. 

He thrashed out into the darkness of the room, hands clawing where his aunt’s face had been only moments earlier–bearing down on him, expression contorted in anger and hate as her hands had scratched and squeezed around his throat. And even though he was crying Rhys swore he couldn’t breath, even as the dream fading away and he was left trembling and shaking in bed. He sniffed and buried his face in his sleeve, trying to will away the tears and the nightmare as he felt the body next to him shift against the sheets.

“Rhysie…? Rhysie, what’s wrong.” The younger boy turned his head, looking at Jack with wide, wet eyes as he struggled to wipe his face, fear slowly turning to embarrassment. 

“O-Oh, yeah no, I’m fine just ah…ha ha…bad dream, you know? I’m fine…” Rhys tapered off with a sniffle, but his attempt to play it off were thwarted when Jack sat up in bed, dark sheets pooling around his naked waist as he leaned forward to envelop Rhys in a firm hug. 

“You’re a real bad, liar, you know?” The older boy murmured as he hugged Rhys’ form close, and the softness in those broad hands stroking over his back, the warm movement of chest against chest–it was enough to make the tears rise up in Rhys’ eyes again. He buried his face into Jack’s shoulder, hugging him tightly as he started to sob, breath heavy. 

“I…it was my aunt…I thought…she had her hands around my neck, I thought she…I thought I was g-gonna die…” Rhys’ voice hitched, whimpering as the residual fear of the nightmare swarmed back into his head. It had felt so real, her hands full of hate as she wrung the life from him, snarling about how Jack wasn’t there to save him–

But Jack was here _now–_ here, and undeniably real and warm, and as he was soothed and calmed with the warm pet of the man’s hands and the whispered reassurance in his ear, he chased away the clawed ghost of his aunt and kept Rhys safe from her clutches. 

“Shhh, babe, she can’t touch you, she can’t lay a hand on you ever again. You’re safe, Rhysie.” Rhys nodded against Jack’s shoulder, relaxing into the warm mellow of the older boy’s words. It’s the easiest thing in the world to believe Jack, to curl up in a blanket of his words and his touch and feel utterly safe.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, merely lulled into calm wrapped up in the deep, warm drag of Jack’s musk, but when he wakes up in the morning and the first thing he sees is Jack’s face, relaxed in sleep with the early light crinkling softly over his skin, Rhys makes sure to capture it in memory.

**Author's Note:**

> Might do some more of these eventually...we'll see!


End file.
